Strings
by threesquares
Summary: Tag for Truth in the Lye. Brennan decides that her subtle invitation to Booth at the end of this episode (just before he runs off to be with Cam) is too subtle. But is Brennan really prepared for what changing the partnership means? M rated.
1. Chapter 1

Um. Couldn't help it. Just couldn't stop thinking about it after I rewatched The Truth in the Lye. The first part includes bolded dialogue from the transcript. I have now made a few edits from the first posting of 7/7/13. I hope you like it and thank you all for reading so faithfully. I can't believe how much joy the writing and the readership has brought me. Thanks. 3sq (I'm planning on at least three chapters, fyi.) 7/27/13

* * *

(Brennan)

I am looking forward to getting home tonight. It is cool in the lab, of course; the cooling systems necessary for preservation of bone and tissue are carefully controlled and reliable. But it is a beautiful day and there is a concert in the park and Angela and I are going to bring a bottle of wine (or two) and sit on a blanket and listen and "people watch". She always brings her sketch pad and will draw just part of someone or something and I have to find what she's drawn. It's fun.

I dressed this morning in clothes that I could go out in, including more make-up than usual and a short dress. As I slide past Booth on the couch, his hands come up as he leans back to give me space. The short skirt of my dress brushes against them and the tips of the fingers of his right hand are against my hip for just an instant as I pass him where he sits on the arm of the couch. All this talk of sex, of Rebecca and biological urges and compatibility, the hot weather, and well, Booth himself, have taken their toll. I can't help but think that, seated on the arm of the couch as he is, Booth is at the perfect height for me to push into the vee of his legs.

"**So you never said how it ended up with Rebecca."**

I feel even a little warmer when I think about being the aggressor. I would _love_ to see how he reacted to me, suddenly standing between his legs. He has dark jeans on and a thin gray t-shirt. I would like to press my palms to his chest, feel him through the fabric. If I were that close, I know I would be able to smell him. I'd lean over and open my mouth on his jaw, see if maybe I could discern the shape of the pockmarks with my tongue. This time of day, his beard would scratch my face, my lips.

"**Well, yeah, it ended. The only time we'll ever spend together is with Parker."**

I sort through the papers in my hands briefly and then place them on the corner of my desk, looking over at him, enjoying the casual but personal conversation. It was really irritating when he was mad at me. I can see why he was upset, now. I wish I hadn't told Cam about Rebecca. Not only because it was Booth's business and I am sorry now that I revealed it, but also the rest of the interaction with Cam was very strange. She almost seemed glad to hear it. She was certainly distracted, almost dreamy, after I told her.

"**You sure that's what you want?"**

His posture and body language are relaxed and all of his earlier reticence to speak to me on this topic is gone. I pick up the folders again, come out from behind the desk, get closer. I want him to know that I am listening. In fact, I actually want to listen, to prolong our conversation.

"**You know what, Bones? It might be all anthropology to you, but there are certain people that you just can't sleep with. I mean, you can pretend that it's just sex. You can lie to yourself, and you can say that it's all good. But, um, there's just- There's too many strings and- and too much at stake, you know?**"

He swallows and his adam's apple dips and bobs a little. Another place I would like to kiss is the hollow of his neck. Breathe, Brennan. His eyelashes flutter a little, his eyes tighten, and I know that he is about to say something that is important to him.

"**Too much to lose."**

He looks at me like he really wants me to understand what he's saying. _More_ than what he is saying in words. I really really want to understand in the way he wants me to.

"**Yeah. I can see that."**

And his lips turn up just a little and he nods at my words. His body shifts and rises and it is all I can do not to back up, all I can do not to move forward into him. Instead, I stay still and he walks toward me. I grip the folders to my chest. It isn't usually this bad, this hard. If I reach out I could put my hands on his hips, narrow and bony. If he would let me, I would unbutton his jeans and slide one side of his pants down, and his underwear (boxers? briefs?) too, just on one side, so I could run my fingers over the tight skin over hipbone.

"**It's over, you know? I'd appreciate, you know, your support in that."**

He hasn't broken eye contact and even as I bend, in my mind, to touch my mouth where my fingers just were, I try to show with my own eyes that I am listening, that I will be careful in the future.

"**I will. And if you should slip, I will…keep my mouth shut about it."**

Rueful, I promise, try to tell him that I know now that I should not have said anything, that he can trust me.

"**Thank you. But, I mean, it's not like I'm gonna-"**

He _seems_ unaware of my reaction to his physical proximity, but it is so hard to tell with Booth. He knows so much more than he lets on and his physical control is excellent. I take a small chance.

"**No, I mean with anybody. I'm sure Rebecca's not your only option for satisfying your biological urges.**"

And he hears what I'm offering. I know he does. His eyebrows, his head, move just slightly in question. I let my own lips turn up, hoping that he wants my positive response as much as I want his. As I hold his gaze for one, two, three beats more, I can feel the heaviness in my chest, the knot of desire at the base of my throat.

"Please tell me these women are not going to jail."

Angela. And Hodgins. Damn. I almost smile then. I wasn't _really_ going to make a move on Booth, right there in my office (was I?) but still Angela would be so angry if she knew the conversation she was interrupting. We talk for a minute about the disposition of the women involved in the case and Hodgins leaves. I sling my bag over my shoulder, ready to walk out with Angela, still feeling the heaviness in my breasts, in my belly, every time I look at Booth, and he seems to be deliberately avoiding further eye contact. _Good_, I think savagely, although I think my outward expression is mild. _I hope he feels it too_.

Angela speaks again. "Hey nice going by the way. Cam tells me you're back with your ex."

"Cam."

"Mmm."

"Cam in her office?" And Booth, with his perfect ass and lean, muscular body, lopes off down the hall, to give Cam hell obviously. Again, like with Cam herself this morning, I feel uncomfortable, like something is going on that I don't understand.

Angela inhales. "I said something wrong."

"Would it be gossip if I told you?"

Angela's smiles and her voice is flirty. "I hope so." I laugh and we talk about where we'll get food for our picnic. My biological urges are still making themselves known, though.

Maybe one last try.

"Ange, can I meet you at the car?" I hold out my bag. "Maybe you can pick me up out front? There is something I need to do."

"Sure. I'll be right out front."

"Okay. Thanks."

I take the steps two at a time back up the stairwell. I walk toward Cam's office and can see them through the glass. Most of Cam's body is obscured by the table, but the linear geometry of Booth's body is clear where he looms over Cam. The thing is, he doesn't look _angry._ And she's laughing and then she touches his chest and he _laughs back._ _Oh_. And on the heels of that thought is another.

_I don't think so_.

**B**

(Booth)

Classic Cam. When Angela said "I hear you're back with your ex," I _knew_ it. She was winding me up. And you know what? Why the hell not? During that conversation with Rebecca, I just lost my best chance at "fulfilling my biological urges" as Bones calls them. And the last few minutes haven't helped. Bones is beautiful, she's always beautiful, but her make-up or her clothes, _something, _made her eyes even more gorgeous today. So pale blue they look almost gray. She is wearing a cute dress today. The skirt is short, and I have been following those legs around all afternoon. And she has on more make-up than usual. Maybe she's going out tonight, maybe that's why she was so relaxed, so easy to talk to. She was so _open_ just now. Everything about that conversation we just had felt intentional somehow. And just then, just before Angela and Hodgins came in...what was that look? Did she just imply...

I swallow hard. _Get a fucking grip, Seeley. _Bones is a perfect example of someone you don't sleep with. Too many strings. Talk about high maintenance. But even my internal voice can't pull off mocking Bones. _Who am I kidding? I'd take those strings, and more. Jesus. _

Shaking the forbidden thoughts off, I approach Cam. I invade her space, give her hell, and more. She doesn't back down (something else that reminds me of Bones) and it's clear that I received the message she sent.

"Camille, the bottom line is, what do you think you are doing, meddling in my business?"

Her laugh is husky and low. "Don't call me Camille, Seeley."

"You know what I think, _Camille_?" I don't wait for an answer, another protest. "I think that you don't really mind as much as you say you do." I watch her throat dip as she swallows and I think of tasting the smooth skin of her throat, push the image of another throat away away away from me as I look down at Camille. I shift even closer, see the offer in her eyes. I push away second thoughts. Is this really a good idea, when I have just been thinking about another woman, when I have finally resolved things with Rebecca? I pause in indecision and her eyes widen.

The phone rings and I take it as a sign, back up a step. "Go ahead and get it, Cam. I...I've gotta go anyway." I say.

Her eyes are soft on mine. "Seeley...just wait, wait a minute, okay?" The phone rings again. If I stay, I run the risk that she convinces me. It's Friday; I'm horny. It's not a _good_ idea, but it could be worse, right? I mean, Cam and I have a history of being able to keep it light, to recover after the inevitable end...

"Dr. Saroyan...oh, yes, I'll be right there."

She hangs up. "Something I need to take care of at the security desk. It should just take a minute, but in case it doesn't...just...let me know if you want to have a drink later." The invitation in her eyes is clear and her voice gets stronger. "No strings. Promise. Just two old friends. Think about it." She reaches out and squeezes my fingers a little and then slips past me out the door.

Why am I hesitating?

"Booth." Jesus, that voice. I thought she was gone and am unprepared. That is the only explanation for the way that her voice rips right through me. I almost rub myself to ease the heavy ache. I take a deep breath and exhale it all, before tipping my head back and over to look at her.

"Bones. What are you doing back? I thought you were gone with Angela."

"I was. I mean, I am. She's waiting for me. We are going to a concert." Her eyes are just as steady on me as before, but determined too. I know that look, by now. Bones has something she wants to say.

"Did you..." my voice is rough and I clear it, start again as she comes into the office. "Did you need something?"

She's not all that close but she doesn't need to be. She doesn't need to be close for me want to be closer. She is fiddling with something at the edge of Cam's desk and I can see not only her neck but the edge of her jaw, most of her ear. I can't look away from the curve of her neck. I swallow, hard. Bones doesn't fiddle and it is strange that she is.

"Yes," She says and straightens, takes another step toward me. "I think I wasn't clear before. I came back to make certain." I am not sure what she's saying. I mean, I have a guess, but it _can't_ be that. It _can't_ be. _Can_ it?

"Make sure...that you were clear?"

She nods. "Yes."

It is impossible look away from her now. She is so earnest. And I just want to kiss her. Jesus, I have never wanted anything as much as I want her mouth under mine. _Damn, what the hell is happening to me?_ It's like breaking down with Rebecca broke down other things too...my self-control among them. But Bones. It's like something has broken loose in her too. She had been so..._open_...earlier. No, even more than open, almost like she was offering...I felt like she was inviting me in. It had been all I could do to not put my hands on her, not dip my head to taste her, certain as I ever had been that she would tip her head back, her breath sweet and thick- _  
_

I clear my throat, cough really, and manage to mutter. "What do you want to be clear about, Bones?"

"I am going to a concert with Angela." Another step forward.

"That's what you wanted to be clear about?" Why are we almost whispering?

"No, I am going to a concert with Angela, but then I'm going to be home. I would like to invite you over." And now she is very close to me, closer than we even were in her office a while ago.

"You _want_ to invite me over or you _are_ inviting me over?"

She may be closer, but the look she gives me is the same as earlier, in her office. Her pale eyes are wide and direct, not a hint of coyness or flirtation, and they are open and welcoming and I couldn't look away if I wanted to.

"I _am_ inviting you over."

"For a drink?" What am I saying? I clench my hands to keep them from touching her.

"No." This is torture. Why won't she just say it? Fuck, what if she says it?

"To satisfy your biological urges." I almost moan when she says it and my eyes slam shut involuntarily but open again just as quickly.

"Bones. That isn't...you can't...do you think that's..._really_?" The last word almost is a moan, and I didn't intend to say it, but she has moved again oh Jesus she is so, so close, and my hands come up uninvited to pull her into me and _the feel of her hips under my palms oh my God_ and then I feel the smallest, _hottest_ open mouthed kiss on my neck, for just an instant and then she is walking away. And I'm watching her. I can't believe she can walk. I hold one up to check and yes, my hands are shaking.

I look around at Cam's office. The Jeffersonian has never seen so much action. I don't know what I'm going to do, but whatever it is, I'd better get the hell out of here. I practically run out of the office but then run back in to write a note to Cam saying that I'll see her next week.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I should have said it before. I don't own Bones. I have moved the time frame for this story up a little from the air date of the episode, which is how I usually decide when they are set, to be in mid-August but I don't think it's such a stretch really. I hope you like it. 3sq 7/8/13

**B**

Angela sighed and drank from her "water" bottle. _This night would be perfect if they could just drink wine from wine glasses. Damn the open container laws. Actually, this night would only really be perfect if ended up with her getting hot and sweaty under the covers with someone. Fat chance of that._

She looked over at Brennan. Her friend had pulled one knee up and was resting on it, listening to the music intently, her eyes still and unfocused. Her "thinking" look, Angela thought of it. Angela put charcoal to paper once more. "You look happy," she remarked.

Brennan turned her head so her cheek rested on her knee and her eyes focused on Angela. "This symphony is a little...lush, for my taste usually. Too romantic, but tonight...I don't know. It just seems beautiful."

"I love the New World Symphony, but then again," she smiled, wide and toothy, "I _am_ a romantic. Thank you, by the way, for not ruining the music tonight with facts."

"You mean like it was composed in 1893 and is really called Symphony No. 9 in E minor, _From the New World_?"

"No, not like that. That is a totally lame fact. Sub par."

Brennan lifted her head but looked forward again, toward the performers, and sipped her own wine from its stainless steel thermos. "How about the fact that Neil Armstrong took a recording of the _New World Symphony_ to the Moon during the Apollo 11 in 1969?"

"Yeah, like that!" Angela shaded her drawing happily and then said what was on her mind. "You know, Brennan...you are the best friend I ever had."

Brennan turned her head again to look at Angela. She nodded, her eyes shining, but didn't smile.

"Me too." Quiet and definite.

_That_, thought Angela_, that right there_. _Anyone else would smile, gush a little. She takes things seriously. Takes me seriously_. Angela turned the picture around.

"You like?"

"Oh, _Angela_." The final notes of the symphony were ending as Brennan carefully took the sketchbook from Angela. "I don't really look like that, do I?"

"That beautiful? Yes, you do. That's what you look like when you are thinking. _Thinking Brennan_, I'll call it. With your chin jutting out just a little like that," she pointed, "and your eyes looking off in the distance but not really seeing anything. And I love your hair right now. Whoever cut it did a great job," Angela reached out and brushed Brennan's loose curls back over her shoulder. "It's the only time you look soft, when you are thinking." Angela shared a small smile and then pointed again. "You got a text."

Brennan twisted to look at her phone, sitting out on the blanket too far for Angela to read, but easy enough to see when it lit up. The days were still long this time of year, but it was getting on toward night. Soon, it would be twilight and she thought it might be one of those nights where the sky stayed clear and blue even as everything darkened around them. Angela took the sketchbook back while Brennan typed into her phone. Reaching into the depths of her bag, Angela pulled out a travel-sized aerosol can of fixitive and sprayed it on the small portrait of Brennan.

She _just_ caught the end of a smile as she looked over at Brennan. Oh, she knew that smile, and she hadn't seen it in a _very _long time.

"Who is he?" she remarked, pleased with how casual she sounded.

"Who?" Brennan sucked at casual.

Angela raised her glass, and even Brennan knew to clink and drink. Again. And again.

"Angela!" Brennan laughed. "Are you trying to get me drunk? It won't work you know. I have a very high tolerance for alcohol."

"Yeah, you keep on telling yourself that, Sweetie."

"What? I do!"

"Well, you don't get blind drunk very easily, I'll give you that, but you get...uh...much more _pliable_...after even one drink. And I really _reeeeealy_ want to know who that text is from."

Brennan pursed her lips and thought. "It's too new," she admitted. "And just physical. So I'm not sure what the point in talking about it is."

"The point is that I am extremely jealous and want to live vicariously through you. But I get not talking about something new, especially if it feels like it might go somewhere."

"It is definitely _not_ going anywhere." Brennan asserted without hesitation. "It probably won't last more than a week, maybe not even past tonight." She finally looked at Angela directly and smiled her crooked smile, saucy and bold. "But it will be a _great_ night." She let out a huff of air and let herself fall backwards onto the blanket. Angela put her things away and lay down next to her, to listen to the end of the last song, to revel in the blue sky of a late summer night.

Her head next to Brennan's, Angela wished she could draw this. The peace of the evening and the feel of late summer. Two friends, a little drunk, looking up at the evening sky, listening, talking. She reached out and squeezed Brennan's hand.

"You should take the picture. Give it to your man."

Brennan curled her fingers around Angela's, weaving their fingers together and pressing firmly. It always surprised Angela a little, how comfortable Brennan was with being touched given how uncomfortable she was showing emotion.

"He's not _my_ man."

"Your woman?"

Brennan could hear the smile in Angela's voice. "No, definitely a man." Brennan's voice faded away, and Angela could feel the desire in the silence, in the heat of Brennan's hand. _That must be some man_.

Brennan turned her head on the blanket to look at her friend in profile. "Just not mine," she insisted.

Angela turned her head too. Dark, almond-shaped eyes met pale blue ones, silvery in the early twilight. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

**B**

what time will you be at your apt?

Angela and I are leaving soon, so I should be home by 8:30.

have you eaten dinner?

Yes. Have you?

yep.

…

Booth?

i'm here

Are you coming over?

i'll be there.

**B**

(Booth)

She hadn't left his mind for even an instant since he left the lab. He had gone home and run. That time running was the only time since he last saw her, since he felt her _lips on his neck_, that he hadn't been hard as a rock. Now, hours later, he was so turned on, he was afraid he'd come at any amount of pressure. He would move in close to her, like he always did, and she would stand her ground, like she always did, but this time, this _fucking time_, they would not leave space between their bodies. He would press right up against her and she would move against him, her breasts peaking and pressing into his chest and he might hold her hips, look down, and watch as he rolled his own against hers. He pictured her arching backward, loose-limbed, breathing hard already, his hand holding her up against him and almost moaned out loud himself. Yeah, and then he'd go off like a fucking roman candle. He'd thought about jerking off but knew that if he didn't...if he waited, then he'd come quickly but recover almost as quickly. If they were going to do this, if he was going to get to taste her mouth again _oh jesus was this real? really real?_ he was going to do everything he had always wanted to do all night long.

**B**

(Brennan)

He had changed his clothes. A clean pair of jeans, a navy t shirt this time. And his hair was still a little damp. He had probably gone for a run. She was glad. She loved the way he smelled in the mornings, clean and sharp, just out of the shower, just shaved. Although tonight he hadn't shaved. She felt an involuntary shiver ripple through her body at the idea of what his beard would feel like against her breasts. She hadn't been home long, just long enough to take off her coat and uncomfortable tights, and turn on a light and open a window in her bedroom. And then his knock. Cocky. Even his knock was cocky. She crossed back through the living room in bare feet to open the door for him. He stood there, arms loose at his sides, a little smile on his beautiful lips, just like always. She could easily imagine him handing her a cup of coffee, "Hi ya, Bones. Ready to go?"

**B**

(Booth)

"Hi, Bones."

"Hi, Booth. Come in."

"Thanks." And he was in. She was shutting the door and maybe he should have moved further into the room because when she turned, she was close, closer than usual, but maybe that was good, right? That was the idea. God, he did not remember being this nervous around a woman since high school. They stood in the little hallway to her apartment, just looking at each other. One way that Bones was special was that she tolerated silence, and suddenly, Booth knew how to start. He reached out, took her left hand in his right loosely, looking up from under his brows to check that it was all right. Maybe he should say something, make small talk, or even check she really wanted to do this, but he couldn't. And she didn't seem to need him to, just waited, watching. Her eyes were watchful and absolutely focused on him. He stroked her palm a little with his fingers.

He let the time draw out and felt himself slow down. He had learned a long time ago that one key to great sex, at least for him, was taking the time to see and hear. And he had to do that with Bones all the time, anyway. He let himself slow even further, breathe through his nose, watch her, listen to her. His fingers were still moving on her palm, her hand hanging at her side he stroked lazy circles in the soft center and as he watched, she shook her head slowly, her eyelids dipped a little.

"Booth, I—" Now he moved closer, pressing his hips into hers, pressing her back against the wall.

"_Shhhhh."_ He interrupted, breathing out as he let his eyes drop from her eyes, to her mouth, down her neck to her chest. Let her watch him, watch her. All that jewelry. He let go of her hand, brought them up behind her neck to fiddle with the clasp for her strings of beads and silver. The rough pads of his fingertips scraped the soft skin at the back of her neck and she gasped and tipped her head back, baring her neck to him, and he almost _almost _fucking lost it. Right there. Right then. He almost unzipped his pants and pulled up her skirt and fucked her, no preparation, clothes still on, not even having kissed her yet. And _Jesus_, he would be lying if he said it wouldn't be sweet, just like that. All the foreplay of the last year and he was ready, she was ready. He knew it.

But he didn't.

He kept his shit together, kept breathing, finally managed the clasp and as it dropped away, her voice, sweet and husky tried again, "Booth, I think that we—"

"_Shhhhh._" He stroked his fingers on the soft newly exposed skin of her neck, breathed the sound into her ear, below and down until he settled his mouth against the slope of her shoulder, let himself lick and suck that sweet spot, along the side of her neck and along her shoulder, and her body loosened and melted into him. Who knew that Bones would be so soft, so pliant. He wondered just how much he could get away with, sensed that she wouldn't let him have this control for long. He moved his right hand between her thighs, slipping under her dress, and she moaned, high and breathy and said his name, "_Booth_."

_Shhhhhh._ This time he wasn't interrupting, he was soothing. And he gave her what he wouldn't allow her, not yet. Words. "Bones." And he touched the silky skin between her legs, stroked along the outside of her panties, warm and damp. Even as her body swayed and moved the way he wanted it, her eyes locked on his. He couldn't look away from her eyes. He'd never seen that look on her face. She looked drugged, half-asleep or half-awake, and her blue eyes had a silvery sheen that made his throat ache. He didn't know how he would reach her. But in the end, her body knew him.

He brought the palm of his hand to sweep against her belly, his fingers laying flat to inch under the edge of her panties and he slipped his fingers down through the soft hair, and she was so ready it was just the easiest thing in the world to be one minute her partner, professional ever since those early kisses in the rain, and now her lover, fucking her with a single long finger. He slipped another finger in and she made high sound like pain but was just heat and no friction just slick and ready and she rose up on her toes to help or to escape but ruthless now, he just drew his thumb up and along her clit, rolling it under his thumb, wet with her, until her muscles seized and with both hands, she pulled him down and against her, her mouth hot and hard and open on his, grasping and sucking as she came against his mouth and hand, moving rhythmically against him. Instead of her movements stilling, getting smaller and smaller, she continued to work herself over on his hand and the way her hips rolled and curved rhythmically made him think about fucking her. She leaned back suddenly and bent backwards to pull her dress over her head. Desire washed over him in a red hot flush, like anger, from the reality of her bent back in that deep curve, his fingers buried in her as her naked skin, her breasts in their white bra were revealed to him. The only place where their bodies touched right now was where his fingers curled, deep inside of her, and he lost it.

**B**

(Brennan)

I should have been afraid of him but I wasn't. He growled, low and angry when I pulled his fingers from where they pleasured me. I narrowed my eyes and warned him off. _Stay. _His hands flexed and I knew I didn't have long. But I didn't need long. I unsnapped my bra, moved my panties down my legs, keeping my movements deliberate but not slow. I wasn't afraid and didn't show any fear. Naked, I looked into his eyes, coal black and completely consumed by arousal. He stayed where he was, but blinked slowly, shook his head once, harshly, to try to clear his head; I couldn't help but smile. And his eyes narrowed further as his hands reached out to catch me before I slipped away.

But I surprised him and moved into him, rubbing my breasts, my body against him. My nipples felt as hard and hot against him as the curves of my breasts were cool and smooth. I felt the rough material of his jeans against me and moaned a little, and at the sound his mouth, his mouth that was moving on my neck now pressed harder, licked and pulled. Hot and wet and like he couldn't get enough of me. I unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down his hips, with his underwear and shoes. He kicked them aside and would have stalked closer but I was already pushing up against him, feeling the bones of his narrow hips hard against mine. Those hips. I couldn't help it and looked down to touch them. But I was distracted from his hips...o_hhh._ And I filled my palm with his balls, lifted and rolled them and then pulled and squeezed my way up his gorgeous cock. _Why the hell had I waited so long? _So now, when he was least expecting it, I wrenched my hand away from where it wanted to be and turned and walked away.

Again, I was deliberate but not slow. If I had run, I have no doubt he would have caught me immediately and we would have fucked on the floor of my hallway. Instead I walked to my bedroom, letting him follow me into the dark of my apartment, toward the yellow glow of my bedroom. I let my hips sway until I was climbing onto the bed and now _now_ he caught and fucked me, from behind. And I came again, from the rush and the chase, from his urgency and blind need of me, from the plunge of his cock and the feeling of h_is balls low against my ass. _I cried out in release and he growled_ Bones_, bending over me, filling his hands with my breasts and pounding, spearing, into me. And long seconds later while I was still rushing and pulling against him, he growled one more time and nipped hard at the skin on my side where he had pressed his mouth, where he was curling against me, and he let go in long, hard shudders against me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who has been reading this. Some of you have written to ask when or if there would be another chapter and I really appreciate the interest and your honest words on how the story and its composition work for you. I'm pretty overwhelmed in my real life right now but writing is important. I like this quotation about writing, from David Foster Wallace, who liked to play tennis: "Fiction becomes a weird way to countenance yourself and to tell the truth instead of being a way to escape yourself or present yourself in a way you figure you will be maximally likable." He had some very sad parts to his life but I prefer to remember that he liked tennis. And writing, of course. So, on to the chapter. I am...desperate...to write sometimes and mostly now am writing in the wee hours and cramming it into small spaces in my life. I am sure there are mistakes despite my best attempts at editing. At a certain point, I have to post or I never will. For those of you who are sticklers for grammar and punctuation perfection, I admire you but rarely reach that ideal. Sorry! Best wishes, 3sq, August 4, 2014

P.S. High five for those of you who can't help, by the end, to think of darlasmom's story Slippage (tag for Hole in the Heart)! High five for those of you who go read it now. Mmmm.

* * *

Booth

We stayed pressed together, breathing hard, our skin slick with sweat between us. My mind cleared and I couldn't believe it, that after all this time, I finally...we finally...and now...we had barely made it to the bed and I, I had _grabbed_ her, and...I could feel my legs start to shake from the pressure of holding my body along and above hers. She at least had braced herself with her hands, although her head was down and _fuck, had I hurt her?_ but as I thought it, Bones shifted down and forward, off me, and uneasy, I didn't even have time to say her name before she turned over, smiling up at me and laughed, husky and low, in that way she has. The sound of that laugh went right through me, and I felt the echo of the lingering peace and pleasure of coming so hard in her, losing myself in Bones, familiar and just..._Bones_. Now I couldn't help myself. I could feel the cocky grin curl my lips and placing my hands on either side of her shoulders, I braced myself, leaned over and kissed her for the first time since one night in the rain.

She arched up to meet me and her mouth was sweet and again, familiar. My head was spinning and I could feel the distant burn of new arousal. Her scent, the shared scent between us of sex and sweat and again, just _Bones_ was like a live thing. The chance that I could ever be standing near her again and not think about sex had just shrunk to fucking nothing.

"Mmmm. _Booth_." She murmured against my mouth because even as these thoughts were creeping in, I couldn't stop kissing her. Touching my tongue to hers, deep in her mouth, was heaven. I slipped down onto my elbows, pressing them against her sides, closing her in. She could only see me, know me, kissing her over and over, switching sides, sucking on her lips, licking into her mouth from the corners, determined to taste her and take her with me for every time I wanted but didn't get to do this since we met. She wriggled her arms up to slide around me, and my entire body shuddered as her nails scraped through my hair and down my neck. At the feel of her breasts against me, I brought my hands up and touched them. _Oh fuck. _I couldn't believe it. _Bones' breasts._ How many times had I sneaked a peek, held myself back from mapping the shape of her in a dress, a white blouse, a fancy gown?

I stroked her nipples and the soft, sensitive undersides. She moaned and pressed even closer, her body bucking, almost rippling, against mine. I let one hand slip around and under her to slide around her ass and stroke between her legs from behind even as I covered one of her nipples with my mouth, licking and sucking hard and then harder as she laughed again. This time her laugh was breathless and helpless, like I had tickled her but I hadn't. Getting that laugh out of Bones, knowing I was playing her body the way she liked, made me feel powerful, made my head spin and I stayed away from her mouth as long as I could stand it, loving the feel of her body responding under my mouth but increasingly desperate to taste her mouth again, breath her air, stroke her lips with mine.

BBB

Brennan

He was getting hard again; I could feel the pressure of his cock high against my leg. My head was spinning with kissing, the rasp of his beard against my face and lips. I couldn't help but curl into the heat of his body and the infinitesimally small, heady, sweaty, space between us. I wanted him closer and closer still. _Xeno's Paradox._ If you try to reach your destination by halving the distance between you and your goal...8 feet, 4 feet, 2 feet, 1 foot, six inches, three inches, 1.5 inches, .75 inches, .375 inches, .1875 inches...then the obvious conclusion is that you can never actually reach your destination. _You can't ever get anywhere._

Booth and I were intent on proving Xeno wrong. _I'm not sure I could actually write an article based on this kind of evidence_ I thought giddily as I deepened the kiss.

I wanted every angle of our bodies to soften and flatten so that we fit perfectly together. I wanted to be so close that my own body would sink along his, into his. His body would be like water and he would surround me. As if he heard me, Booth pulled me even closer and kissed his way up until his mouth was fused to mine again and my entire body shivered against his. I couldn't believe how turned on I was, how perfect he felt. This was _Booth_. Booth who brought me coffee, whose masculine and smoothly aggressive gait was discernible to me even in a crowd, and at almost any distance. Booth, who mocked the lab and the squints but who listened to us and acted on our insights. Booth whose hands reached for the salt at the diner and pushed at my back and shoulders to go faster move over _here_ and pulled me up from where I crouched over bones. His hands...every time he touched me he left behind an impression, like a fingerprint, a residue on my body. It seemed to me now that each of those touches had ignited a spark, built a fire that now demanded to be fed.

And suddenly his weight seemed a little uncomfortable, like he might actually be able to sink onto me, through me, after all. I shifted a little, which was really all I could do, bracketed like I was by his arms, held down by his body. But he seemed to know, and Booth tipped to the side, rolling so that I ended up on top of him, sprawled messily over his torso and legs. I nestled my body against his, climbing up to where I wanted to be, stealing his involuntary moan with my tongue and lips.

And even as I pushed his arms up over his head and leaned over him, loving the power and the feel of my hair hanging like curtain on either side of his head, I squelched the small spark of loss that spun in my belly as I was deprived of the pressure of his body on mine. He hadn't actually moved any farther away, after all, and now, I had control.

As I let my hands wander and stroke where I wanted, I watched his eyes glaze and his eyelids droop in compliance. As I let my lips kiss the soft skin of his neck and run along the cords of his throat, I thrilled to the low grunts he couldn't hold back. As I licked my way down his body, wrapped my mouth around his heat, I felt his muscles loosen and release in surrender. And then just before I lost even my own considerable ability to remain rational and clear-headed, I wondered why I was the one who felt possessed.

BBB

Booth

They had fallen asleep at some point last night or this morning and while he wasn't sure who had woken up first, he was sure that he had never enjoyed morning sex more. Wordless and almost soundless, they had come together languidly, shifting and sighing softly until the pressure crested and broke and they slept again. When he woke next, he turned his head to find her crawling back into bed. She slid down under the covers to rest on her side, head resting on her hands sweetly, and looked at him with a little smile on her face. This soft, open Bones, was...he didn't know what she was but he smiled anyway, reached out his hand and stroked the side of her face with the blunt ends of his fingers.

"That was incredible." Her eyes narrowed a little, pleased.

"Yes." When she didn't say any more, just watched him, he got a little nervous.

"But probably a terrible mistake." He offered softly, ruefully, hoping for a little witty banter.

"Why?" Not angry, but he couldn't read her expression. He had often thought that her thinking face was better than a poker face. Instead of showing the absence of all feeling and thought, her face seemed to show the absolute presence of thought; it showed the result of a rapid and complex series of calculations and analyses. Impossible to reverse engineer entirely because of the complexity of her mind, but he had started getting good at teasing some of the threads apart, following them back to the thought or feeling that led to it.

"_Why_?" He didn't know where she was coming from. Why couldn't she just agree with him? Make a joke about it?

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, it's just that we uh...work together and...I don't want things to get all...weird, you know and—"

"Booth, it's just sex."

"Bones, I thought we just established that sex is never just sex."

But she had obviously not forgotten because she answered right away, "Because there are 'some people you just can't sleep with?'"

"Exactly."

"Are you saying that I am one of those people for you? You think that there is too much to risk?"

"Well, we do work with each other, and we have gotten closer..."

"That is true but...Have we gotten close enough to worry that having a physical relationship will negatively impact our professional and personal relationships?"

Booth felt himself flush with irritation and the beginnings of hurt, "You don't think we have anything to risk?"

But still Brennan was not flustered and Booth found that this irritated him too. "No, I don't think that. Our partnership has clearly expanded into a fledgling friendship," she watched him closely even as she qualified, "of sorts. I am able to acknowledge that I would be sorry for any personal...tension to negatively affect our working relationship or our-"

"Bones, why do you have to say everything the long way?"

"Booth, I am just trying to be precise. Don't take your ill humour out at me."

"Fine, Bones. Fine." He held up his hand to stop her saying more. "I just think that given our _friendship_ you should know me well enough to know that our partnership is important to me and now our friendship is important to me."

"I do know that, Booth. I am not completely blind or insensitive-"

He reached out and put his hand over her mouth. Her eyes blinked at him over the line of his pinky. "Stop. Just stop, Bones. Say what you want, but don't go there. I don't think you are blind or insensitive and you know it. I know we are friends. _You_ know we are friends. Whatever happens." When she just continued to stare at him, gentle puffs of air streaming along the back of his hand from her nose, he slowly pulled his hand back.

She spoke and he knew she was making an effort. She didn't directly address what he said but almost seemed to be trying to prove to him that she wasn't blind or insensitive. "I have noticed that you lead with your left foot and that you often smell differently on Fridays most likely as a result of using a different aftershave since you don't ever seem to prefer to use cologne. I know that you participate in some kind of sporting activity on Monday and Wednesday nights because you often have contusions on Tuesdays and Thursdays." When he didn't respond, just let her talk, she ventured, "And...and we know each other well enough to be able to know how the other would feel about things without talking, sometimes, like how I know you don't like gossip, and like to keep your sexual conquests private-"

It baffled him. She was arrogant and snobby and interrupted him and-_case in point_-she was all..._wordy and shit_...but right now, instead of mostly irritated, he felt...charmed and almost tender—_Fuck. Shake it off, Booth—_as she described proudly how she was an excellent friend. He let her prattle on about more of her outstanding qualities as a friend, and he watched her mouth move and her breasts shimmy under the old, thin t-shirt she had put on when she got up to go to the bathroom.

"Booth, are you listening?" He looked up at that.

"Not really, Bones."

"Are you looking at my breasts?"

"You know, Bones..." he leaned forward and caught her mouth in a long, slow kiss. When he was finished, he pulled back just enough that he could watch her blink and hear the catch in her breath, "...I have to admit that I was."

"Good." She reached out and fisted his t-shirt at the neck, pulling him firmly toward her. "Now I want you to _touch_ them."

BBB

Much later, she lay against his chest, face pressed close to his neck, hand tracing along the bones of his shoulders and chest. He could almost believe that she could see through his skin to where his ribs were, her touch seemed so precise. His brain was only just starting to work again when she said, "So this was a mistake."

"What?"

"You said it was a mistake. Didn't you mean it?" He couldn't see her face but her voice seemed calm enough.

"No! I mean, yes, I meant it but I didn't expect you to agree, exactly...nevermind. Listen Bones, I just think that-"

"Booth it's okay..." she pushed herself up to look down at him and he was just sorry that she was no longer lying on him. He always loved being close to a woman. Before, during, after, didn't matter. And Bones was...Jesus, Bones was just...Bones. He had _always_ liked being close to her. Part of what he liked about holding her just now, though, was that it was just so fucking _unlikely_ that Bones would curl up around him like a kitten.

"...I can see what you mean."

She looked meaningfully down at his body. Booth refused to blush.

"I am going to have a very hard time seeing you at work, not thinking about this."

The smile that curved her lips was both sly and sweet and Booth found himself wondering if he could manage a fifth go-around. It certainly was a great way to silence her. But she was continuing, "I always thought we would be compatible." And now sex was obviously on her mind too because she reached out to stroke down his chest with a single finger. Her eyes followed her finger and she seemed lost in thought, almost dreamy as she veered to the side and palmed his hip, smoothing and stroking the prominent bones showing through skin. He was absolutely spent but couldn't look away from her face, caught in her dreaminess. "When you wear t shirts you rarely tuck them in. Now I will want to slip my hand underneath to feel your skin." He thought she might look at him but didn't as she kept talking and he shivered as her hand traced across his stomach toward his other hip. "When you wear a suit, I will wonder what it would be like...to take it off of you...piece...by piece." She leaned down slowly..._reluctantly?_...and let her open mouth settle gently on his hip.

"_Bones._" He breathed harshly as desire, something more than physical, struck him in the gut. And broke the spell. She sat up all the way and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"I think you are correct. This was a mistake-" He sat up too, sorry that he had ever said the word _mistake_, but relaxed when she smirked a little. "But I'm not sorry for it." She leaned over and kissed him. When she pulled back, she asked, "What happens now?"

"Well," Booth started, uncertain, even though he had gotten his way. "Now, we remember this as a _very_ good night." He couldn't help but lean over to kiss her again. As he pulled away, when his face was still so close to hers that his eyes crossed when he tried to look at her, he murmured honestly, "very _very_ good." _Understatement of the fucking century. This was possibly the best sex he had ever had and damned if he didn't know it. _

"And we go back to the way things were? Won't that be difficult?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I'll be hard but we've done it before...right?"

She almost whispered. "Sublimated our physical attraction for one another?"

"Huh?"

"Sublimated our-"

"Nevermind, I figured it out. Yes. That."

Her eyes were serious on his but her mouth was still soft. He reached out with his thumb to pluck at her bottom lip while he still could.

She nipped at his thumb. "Hey!" Her smile turned into a laugh.

"So does that mean I have to go take a shower while you stealthily slip out of my apartment?"

Hopeful at the lighter tone in her voice, he suggested, on impulse, "No, I don't think we have to do that. We're pretty good at what we do, wouldn't you say, Bones?"

"We're the best, Booth, you know that, at least within the rarefied field of-" he cut her off before she could get going again.

"And while it might be _difficult_," he shot her a warning look before she could start to brag about how easy any difficult thing would be for her, "we can keep our hands and our thoughts to ourselves, right?"

"Yes, I am confident in our ability to reimmurse ourselves in our professional roles as partners as well as to be...friends."

"Right." He nodded, hoping he convinced her if not himself. "Then we should get up, get dressed, and go get breakfast at the diner. We can just...you know...go back to normal."

A long-for her-pause while Brennan considered this. "All right, Booth. Yes, I would like to have breakfast with you."

And if it wasn't quite "back to normal" because they had never gotten dressed together before and Booth had never used one of her spare toothbrushes before, and never, when they were _this_ hungry, had they dawdled and lingered as if they hadn't yet built up enough momentum to escape the gravitational pull of her apartment.

Finally, they were standing near the rack of coats near the door. Before she could take her coat, Booth reached across to snag a blue one he liked, holding it open for her. Brennan looked a question at him but turned her back and slipped her arms into the sleeves. He took the engineered opportunity to carefully pull her hair out of the jacket and press a last kiss to her neck. She gasped as if burned and turned swiftly in his arms, "_Booth._" And then her mouth was on his again and something hurt in his chest as he kissed her the way he needed to. Finally, one of them pulled away but they were both breathing hard, and still very close. Booth's hands bracketed her face and he could feel her hands gripping his sides through his shirt. Carefully, he pulled away and felt a little vicious thrill of pride at her puffy lips and uncharacteristically hazy eyes.

He didn't say anything but smiled briefly before putting his own leather jacket on. He opened and held the door for her. She paused in the doorway and he saw it coming. Knew she was going to try to make a joke from the little light of anticipation in her eyes.

"And if you should...slip," she echoed her words from their conversation yesterday, about not gossiping, "and have sex with someone with whom you have..._strings_," and now he was surprised, and felt a small surge hope supercharge his gut. Her gray blue eyes were luminous with humor. He couldn't have looked away if he tried.

"...then I'll be careful not to tell myself about it." She pursed her lips, containing her mirth, but her eyes sparkled.

_Wait. What? If he...slipped...with __**her**__? Did that mean she thought he would have a chance to slip with her?_

Gripping the lapels of his jacket she brought him close for one last kiss. "Just one more time..." she said afterwards, against his lips. And then she turned and walked away, headed toward the stairwell, and the diner. Booth hustled after her, familiar with the feeling of being at least one step behind her at all times. Just now, though, there was nowhere he'd rather be.

* * *

**A/N (2):** So, clearly, this could be the end. Or there could be one or more occasions of...slippage. I wish I knew for sure but I am not marking this story "complete" just yet. I would welcome your thoughts on this chapter, the story, anything at all really.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: I didn't expect to be able to write more today but I was. And...well, it's not what I thought would happen, but then again, it rarely is. Thank you for sticking with me! (Tag for the Girl in Suite 2103 and the Girl with the Curl) 3sq

* * *

Almost slip #1

(Booth)

Booth quickly learned that it was at the end of the case, when relief and success, fatigue and a fading adrenaline rush mixed together, that he and Bones were most likely to slip.

Going back to "normal" was surprisingly easy at first, despite a little bit of charged (and to be perfectly honest, not entirely unpleasant) tension between them when they met at the crime scene, rode back in the truck together, planned their interrogation in his office, met at the coffee cart, or when he tracked her down in her office.

It was like living the same moment over and over again in new circumstances, or like a strange recurring dream. The sudden awareness, mid-sentence, of the fact that they were alone. The way he had to concentrate to keep talking even as he couldn't look away from the curve of her neck or ass, a glimpse of her thigh through the slit in her skirt, the smell of her hair as she bent over her desk.

And he could see it in her eyes too. In fact one day he realized in shock that she didn't really want to hold back. The look on her face, as her eyes met his sometimes, was _challenge_. He swore she wore lower-cut blouses now, that her skirts were shorter. A wave of hair would drop routinely from her clip and he only managed not to brush it back about half the time. The glint of triumph in Bones' eye was infuriating and arousing. He wanted to challenge her in return, win this game that they would both win by losing, but no just no! that wasn't what they had agreed, not what they needed. He was a little afraid that Hodgins had overheard something that made him suspicious and Cam was being surprisingly persistent about trying to get together with him outside of work. So between dodging Cam and Hodgins and resisting Bones unconscious or deliberate temptations, by the time they finished a case, Booth was on the ragged edge.

Tonight, however, when he joined Bones on the Jeffersonian balcony, observing the platform below where the squints and Cam worked, there was no tension. Bones was intense and emphatic. She was focused on sharing her unease at Cam's attempted falsification of evidence to secure a prosecution of Judge Ramos and her belief that he did the right thing, that he _always_ did the right thing. Her faith warmed him and for the first time since _that night_, he felt truly at ease with her again, like things might actually get back to normal. Even better was sharing a laugh as Hodgins was led away by the Men in Black.

He had promised himself just that morning that he would avoid their post-case drink but he decided to risk it, especially since others were coming. Several hours in Founding Fathers passed — the squints were surprisingly good company sometimes — and he relaxed further. It was getting late and people were making noises about going home and when he came back from the bathroom, in fact, everyone was gone but Bones. She stood and put her coat on.

"I waited for you, Booth. Would you give me a ride home?"

"Suuuure, Bones." He dragged the words out, trying to think of how to make sure they didn't get into a position where they...slipped. And yet, desire unfurled in his gut, and when his hand came to rest casually on her back, he couldn't help but clench his hand into a fist. She pushed backwards into it and looked up at him in question, brows drawing to a slight v. _Was she really that clueless?_

When they pulled up in front of her apartment, she turned to him in the semi-darkness of the ambient light from the street. Her eyes were dark and glinting, her mouth curved in a smile. "So. would you like to come up for a drink?"

"Nah...nah, I'm good, Bones. I'll just," he tapped out a pattern on the steering wheel, "just..ah...you know, get home, get some shut eye. Big day tomorrow."

"Oh, really?" She unsnapped the seat belt and shifted, turning toward him in inquiry. _Had she gotten closer?_ He shifted back a little

"Oh, well, you know...Parker has a game and then we're coming back here. I have him for the night so I'll need to...um...get things ready...you know, shop and stuff..." He was rambling but she had shifted again to get comfortable even as she listened attentively and she was _definitely_ closer this time. She lifted her hand and —

He never knew what she was going to do because he practically jumped out of the car, repressing the little girl squeak in his throat, to come around to help her out. And whether it was from surprise or because he was just moving so damn fast, for the first time, he actually got to her car door before she had climbed out herself. The doorman had the door to the building open for her and the lights blazed bright from her apartment lobby, so instead of walking her to her door, he waved goodbye and pulled out before she could have reached the elevator.

_Shit_. He was shaking.

BBB

Almost slip #2

(Bones)

Booth successfully avoided me at the end of the next case and honestly, I felt remorse. It was not my intention to make him uncomfortable, although I really do wish he were able to compartmentalize a little bit better because I would really enjoy a few more nights like the one we spent together.

Everything he does — the way he moves and talks and touches everything that is nearby on a desk or table — is all so arousing. That said, I am enjoying the fact that we _are_ finally getting back to normal, which, I have realized, has always included an element of sexual tension. I just have to choose to not act on it, out of respect for Booth. And in recognition of my own evaluation that he is often right about these matters: relationship and emotional issues. _I_ don't feel emotionally threatened: our work, after all, does not depend on our being emotionally at ease with one another. Many times, especially in the early months of our partnership, one or the other of us was furious or we were both in a state of disequilibrium. And yet, we managed to solve cases, get along professionally. I don't see how the initiation or cessation of a physical relationship could be any more complicating or uncomfortable than that.

So it is with every good intention that I take Booth up on his offer of Thai food and paperwork after the successful conclusion of the Brianna Swanson case. He lied to me about having to go to an appointment, I think, and I don't know why. But we spend the evening together as we used to sometimes, laughing and getting the work done in twice the time it would have taken me alone.

When we get up to go, I busy myself with the clean up and he retrieves our coats from the office. I take mine and put it on myself, don't try to get closer to him. But I want to. I love how his hair isn't quite so perfect at the end of the night; he just can't help running his fingers through it. And despite his relative youth still, Booth has lines at the edge of his eyes and mouth that give his face character and now make my mouth water. I want to kiss them, cover them with my mouth. But I don't.

I laugh and banter with him and he puts his hand at the small of my back. I repress a shiver and don't turn and curve into him, nuzzling my face into his neck, opening my mouth on his pulse point, and he doesn't wrap his arms around me and pull me close in the hallway, in the elevator, in the small park between us and the street parking we secured earlier. He doesn't press me against the truck and we don't make out in the parking lot behind my building, steaming up the windows and feeling each other up. I have never done those things, but I want to now.

Instead I say good night (I can't help but pause in the smallest of invitations) and he says good night (ignoring it or not even noticing, I'm not sure which) and let myself into my apartment, closing the door behind me and listening for the sound of his retreating footsteps, ready to put on the safety chain.

I don't hear any footsteps.

Minutes pass and I turn and put my hand on the doorknob but don't turn it. Maybe I just didn't hear him leave. Booth can be very quiet. I will feel foolish if I open the door and he is gone. But he won't be there to know. A small noise from the hall makes me jump and pull my hand away. He is still there. Still on the other side of the door.

"Booth?"

Silence and then, "I'm here, Bones."

"Why?"

I hear a thud against the door and know it is his forehead coming to rest against the wood. "I want to kiss you, alright? Are you satisfied?" He sounds angry.

"I don't want to make you angry, Booth."

He doesn't answer.

"Booth?"

A sigh loud enough to hear. "Still here, Bones."

"What if...what if...we just kiss? Maybe that would...suffice." I want this more than I had expected or planned. I feel desperate really, and I am suddenly a little alarmed. Maybe Booth was right to—

"Open the door, Bones."

I don't even hesitate but swing the door open wide, immediately.

He stands in the doorway, braced on one arm, so that his shirt rides up over his bare belly a little and I can see the spot on his shoulder where a noodle fell during dinner earlier. I step close, not through the door, but very close. He closes his eyes and I see his nostrils flare. _Is he smelling me? _That is an arousing thought and I indulge my earlier wish and lean forward to brush my mouth against the pulse point at the base of his neck.

He sways away from me and says, harsh and almost groaning, "Only on the mouth, Bones." And before he gives me a chance to comply, his lips are on mine.

He keeps his mouth closed. His warm, slightly chapped lips catch mine, just barely hanging on before releasing and brushing against my mouth again. I moan, helplessly, and let myself sway toward him. He doesn't protest. In fact, one arm snakes around my waist and his fingers spread wide in the small of my back, pulling me closer. The new position tips my head back and I open my mouth. Booth mutters a curse and then I can taste him and my whole body thrills to him. His tongue slips in to lick and stroke and I feel disappointment that this is going to end at some point soon and my mind tries to calculate the percentage of time left. Maybe we aren't yet halfway? I mean, maybe about a third of the way through? Less?

"Bones." Booth rips his mouth from mine and growls his complaint against my lips.

"What, Booth?" Our faces are close and I search his dark eyes for clues. Even his eyes increase my arousal...so dark in his beautifully structured face, the sharp planes, sensual lips...

"Stop thinking." And then his mouth is on me again and I push back against him, vying for control.

And he lets me have it. By the time we are done—_we would never be done—_savaging each other's mouths, we are panting and my hands are splayed wide between us, ready to grab or pull. It is all I can do to hold them there. I just want to touch him. Just one touch.

But then Booth's forehead rests on mine and I can feel his breath on my face as he speaks, low, "No, don't touch me, tell me."

"I want to take your shirt off and touch your acromia." I confess.

He doesn't try to hide his own desire. "I want to take your shirt off too, but it's not your acromia I want to touch. Whatever the fuck they are." My whole body tightens when he curses. And to feel that curse against my lips as he dips to kiss me between our words. "What else?"

I drop my hand and flip it over, reaching for the part of him I most want to hold. At the first brush of my fingers, he backs away, almost tripping. "Shit!"

He steadies himself and stands several feet away, looking at me incredulously, his eyes still dark and hard on mine. I can see his erection, and the muscles in his arms and neck are pulled tight with tension. Finally, he drops his head, leans over and braces his hands on his knees, gasping for breath and control. I turn my own body into the door, hiding my face in my arm, breathing deeply and trying to get beyond the taste of him in my mouth. _What are we doing? We are adults. I know that anthropology has shown that the workplace is built around a hierarchy and that workplace liaisons undermine that hierarchy but our partnership already at least partly exists outside of any normal hierarchy. What are we doing?_ I think again.

I hear him come up behind me. "Bones?"

I don't answer.

"Bones?" His palm, warm and reassuring, strokes down my back. When it reaches my waist, I helplessly turn into him and he gathers me in with both arms but never stops the smooth up and down motion. My body still feels on fire but it is somehow not as important as his hands, holding me, touching me. Finally, I take a deep breath and let it out.

"This is a problem." I say, my voice muffled by his shirt.

He kisses my head and I huff out a little laugh at this unsophisticated move. He squeezes me a little, "What?"

"Nothing." I nuzzle my face into his neck, move even closer to him. His arms tighten and then release, holding my arms and pushing me back a little. I sigh and look up at him.

"What do we do now?"

"I don't know, Bones. Nothing, tonight. In a minute, I'm going to turn around and go home." He sounds like he is talking to himself. "And tomorrow, in a public place, we will talk about this. Okay?"

I do not have a counter offer so I just nod. "Alright, Booth." My eyes drop to his lips and he groans.

"Stop that." I reach out and stroke his bottom lip and he groans again. "Bones, stop it, _please, please stop it_. I can't stand anymore." The anguish in his voice, however misguided his injunction against sex between us, is real and I stop immediately.

"Sorry." I whisper.

He looks like he is going to apologize himself but doesn't. Instead, he reaches down and squeezes one of my hands goodbye, turns and lopes away.

I spend an uncomfortable night in and out of dreams—a knock at my door, his coming back, my going over-but in the end, neither of those things happen and I am not sleeping but laying in the dark reliving part of our one night together when the phone rings to say bones have been found in the desert.

BBB

Actual slip #1, but if it happens in Vegas, does it count?

We'll just let what happens there, stay there, shall we? Suffice it to say that there was no way, or reason, to avoid slippage in a shared hotel room in Vegas.

* * *

**A/N**: Next up, slippage of a different kind and I think you know what episode is looming. And no, I'm not going to write about Vegas. At least, I don't think I am. Maybe later. For now, if you know of a good Woman in the Sand fic, leave it in the reviews, give us all something to read!


End file.
